Synchronization
by LarkaBlackTail
Summary: This is just a little fic focusing a bit on the mechanics of Bucky's arm and has a little mention of ASMR in it. I got the inspiration listening to ASMR to fall asleep the other night and thinking about Bucky, so the idea came to me! Enjoy (or don't)


You met Bucky a few months ago and you grew together rather quickly. You'd never met anyone like him and he had said the same of you before. He hadn't told you much about his past, and you didn't press him- you knew someone had hurt him, and you didn't want to cause him pain by asking him to recount it to you; you were probably better off not knowing anyway. You worked hard at the diner during the day to keep him fed and clothed; he was searching for jobs every day, even though you insisted he not.

Sometimes, you'd see him sneaking food back into the pan or hiding it in the fridge- he said he didn't deserve it, that he should work if he wanted to eat. Anytime he said such things, you threatened to stop speaking to him unless he ate it in front of you. And he always did- he didn't want to risk losing you. You worried about him all the time- he was so thin, and the mass of his weight was muscle.

You'd been living alone for a while now, working through school in a small New York flat that was on the wrong side of Brooklyn. It was a tiny apartment, just two rooms, but you were lucky to get that. It was always cold, but you liked it- it was heat you couldn't deal with. The pipes leaked, the shower water was only ever lukewarm, the stove was 30 years old, there was no dishwasher- the problems were endless. It was nothing like you'd expected when you'd moved out.

But the place was yours and his- somewhere you could be yourself and...breathe. It had gotten cold again- late December. It was one of the most beautiful mornings you could remember. You were only a few days into winter break, the Sunday after a 5-day stretch spent at work. The fridge was restocked, the blankets were piled high, and it was snowing outside.

When you opened your eyes, dawn was just breaking flurries were drifting down from the gray sky. Everything was still asleep and the grass below was frosted beautifully. The softest light dripped in through the small window beside the double bed I was stretched out on. A few seconds later, when I woke up a bit, I realized the usual warmth beside me was gone and there was a soft clicking sound coming from across the room.

You roll over, pandiculating, and glance over to the source of the clicking. There sat Bucky, in a small wooden rocking chair that you'd inherited from your grandmother, his prosthetic arm stretched out along the arm of the chair. The metal of his arm was shivering and twisting, like someone winding a clock. "Bucky?" you whisper. His eyes dart up to you at the sound, so beautifully blue in the morning light. He gives you small grin; he'd been smiling more and more since he'd lived here and each one gave you a little more life.

"Go back to sleep," his voice was soft like the blankets you were curled underneath. "What are you doing?" you were still half asleep, and your voice cracked a little with disuse. "It's nothing- today's your only day off- please, go back to sleep," he said even more quietly than before. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes defiantly and slid out of bed. The hardwood was cold under my bare feet as I padded over to the rocking chair. I could see his arm better now, the pieces of metal sliding around like a machine.

"What's happening?" I murmured, my voice echoing a little despite the softness of it. His dark hair outlined his pale face more starkly than usual because of the low light. "My arm is...like a clock," he explained, echoing your thoughts, "Every once in a while, I have to synchronize it so it stays balanced and responds to me,"

You run your hands over the writhing metal, your fingertips meeting the cold titanium. He was wearing a long-sleeved black t-shirt with the left sleeve cut off, one of the first things I got for him. I smirked at his Captain America pajama pants- he'd seemed very interested in the old war hero when I first met him, and his obsession had continued since he'd moved in. I didn't question it, I just picked up the odd trading card I saw in the market at the counter when I went shopping for food. He kept all of his memorabilia under our bed, in a small wooden box he'd picked up at an antique shop. I didn't know why it meant so much to him, but it did.

I straightened and stroked his hair softly, listening to the silence in the apartment. "Alright, go on. Back to bed," he said brusquely. He was determined on me getting more sleep, but I wouldn't go without him. "Come with me- just lay your arm on the pillows above my head," I replied. "No, it'll keep you awake, and you need rest," he pointed to the double mattress now. "No- I like the noise. It's relaxing. It's like ASMR. Just- come back to bed," I whispered, almost begging. "Wh- AS- What?" he said. "You know- ASMR. Soft sounds and things that give you a mental massage. It's nice- relaxing. Just- lay next to me- I'm cold," I didn't really, and I didn't regret lying to get what I wanted.

After a moment of silence, he accepted my ultimatum and got to his feet, tiptoeing over to the bed. I slid under the sheets and pulled his good arm around me, ducking into his warm musk. He smelled like motor oil from his bike and coffee- his favorite beverage. I didn't know how he drank the stuff, but I bought him coffee beans and filters every time he ran out. The bed was still warm from before and we retook our spots as if we had never left. I was right- the soft clicking and whirring that his arm made were comforting, like listening to the grandfather clock in my parents' house as I fell asleep.

That was the most beautiful morning of my life.


End file.
